My dad was a writer. As far as I know, he wrote till the day he died.
Only he didn’t write. He had all these cards with character descriptions. He had grand ideas. He didn’t have the words on paper.
He did have one play that was written up in Time magazine and performed at the Greek Theater way back in the day. 1970s. Early 1970s. The play was called Sir! and was loosely based on Steinbeck’s Of Mice and Men. Most of it was basic directions like, “A Colonel sits at a desk, a Private sits before him.” and as I recall, the dialogue was, for the most part improv.
The latest and last script Dad was working on was basically Hamlet, but with a biker gang.
As I sit down to write my 1,500 words for NaNoWriMo at the scheduled time, it occurs to me how much more writing support I have than Dad had.
I know he had his best friend, who lived in the other side of the country, who is also a screenwriter. My Uncle Bill be works in the industry. He gave Dad practically advice. Advice that Dad didn’t always want to hear and would later pout about to me.
I believe Uncle Bill was about it as far as support for writing goes. Dad talked about writing a lot. And talked.
He didn’t write much, though.
The thirteenth anniversary of Dad’s death is coming up. My thoughts are obviously with him as I sit down to write.
I want to give a shout out to SUAW, my East Coast writing group and to MY best friend who lives across the country, Evvy.
I actually have a ton of support. If Dad were still alive, I know I could count him in that group.
Off to attempt 1,500 words now.